


monster

by paintingraves (kallistob)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Flirting, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi, Original Percival Graves Lives, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Torture, Rescue, Sarcasm, Vampire Original Percival Graves, and he's really alive fuck off canon, copious amounts of it, i love vampires and i will not shut up, vampirism as a weird medical condition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/paintingraves
Summary: “Fuuuuck,” he stated. He kept touching the two overgrown, pointy canines he could feel which were decidedly not there before. He’d always had perfect dentition, thank you very much. Now he couldn’t quite close his mouth. “Well that’s just great. That’s just brilliant.”--Newt rescues a little bat. Chaos ensues.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 59





	1. In Which New Rescues A Bat

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this fic in my drafts is "fuck yeah" and i think that about sums it up 
> 
> i saw BBC's Dracula and it inspired me. this is unbetead we die like men;;;; also i fucking LOVE vampires and i had to play around with Percival. It's been so long since i wrote for this fandom if anyone's listening I STILL LOVE PERCIVAL GRAVES WITH ALL MY HEART !!!  
> this fic has a very... weirdy humorous tinge to it that is usually not present in any of my other works. i think i needed to relax or something. anyway i like it & i hope you'll enjoy this too !!!!

“Oh, the poor dear!” Queenie gasps. 

She called Newt upstairs, after the bat flew straight into the window of their living-room while she was having tea with her sister. 

It was January, and the nights still came early. The animal had knocked itself out cold against the glass. It was lying in a heap on their balcony. Tina picked it up, using a tea towel to wrap the little thing in a buddle. “It’s still breathing,” she said just as Newt entered the room, followed by Queenie. Newt was still wiping his hands with a rag - he had been feeding the Erumpent before this came up. “I think it’s just unconscious.” 

“Give it here,” Newt said softly. “Lay it on the table.” Tina followed his directions. Carefully, Newt unwrapped the bundle and leaned over the bat to examine it. “ _Accio_ gloves,” he said, and a minute later a box burst out of the man’s suitcase and came flying into the room to land in Newt’s open hands with force. 

He placed it on the table, opened it and took out a pair of transparent, thin medical gloves. He carefully started examining the bat, taking advantage of its unconscious state to pick and prod at it. He slowly opened the wings, checking to see if they were torn or broken. Very luckily, that wasn’t the case. In fact, the little bat didn’t seem to have any injuries, beside the obvious bump it was sure to get after its encounter with the window. That, and little patches of fur were missing on its head and belly. Newt frowned. He took of his gloves. 

“Well?” Queenie prompted, ever so anxious. 

“He’ll live,” Newt said. “No serious injuries, but he’s in a sorry state. Possibly ill. He’s worryingly thin, likely starving and dehydrated. He needs to be fed, he needs to drink, and he needs rest and warmth. Queenie, would you have an empty box lying around?” 

“Of course,” Queenie said, and exited the room to find one. 

“What species is he?” Tina asked curiously. 

“I’m not sure,” Newt replied. He looked closely at the bat. “It looks like a silver-haired bat, but it’s too big to be one. Most bats in the US are very small species.” 

“Could it have escaped from somewhere?” Tina wondered, ever the detective. “A - a zoo? A collector’s place?” 

“I don’t know,” Newt said. “Maybe.” He stroked the bat’s head with a finger. “He’s here now, that’s what matters. Too bad you can’t talk and tell us your story to satisfy this lady’s curiosity, uh?” 

“Newt,” Tina said, smiling. “We need to give him a name if you’re going to add him to your large flock of rescues.” 

“Hmm,” Newt said. “Archibald.” 

“No.” 

“Octavius.” 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Tobias?” 

“Why must you always pick the weirdest names for your creatures?” Asked Queenie. She held in her hands a plain shoebox, and Newt took it gratefully. She’d also brought a very tiny, obviously shrunk pillow, and a small blanket. Newt made it grow slightly larger to accommodate the bat with a tap of his wand, and Queenie arranged it all into a rather comfortable looking, tiny bed. Newt took the bat and laid it down carefully in it. Its eyes were closed, and it snuffled softly sometimes. The mouth was open, revealing two tiny, pointy sharp teeth. 

“Well,” Queenie observed. “Bats are rather cute.” 

“They’re _adorable_ ,” Newt corrected, nodding. 

“Newt, you also think a full grown Erumpent is adorable.” 

“Sophia is the sweetest girl on this earth!"

“You are exhausting,” Tina said with fond exasperation. “We’ll call the bat Silver and that’s final. Take it with you.” 

Newt pretended to bow, and gracefully took the box in his arms. Queenie giggled. Tina rolled her eyes. All in all, minus the bat accident, this was a perfectly normal Sunday evening - for none of them yet knew what was to come. 

\---------

The following day, Newt woke up at five, as per usual. He checked on his newest rescue first. _Silver._ Ugh. How unimaginative. He wrinkled his nose, and decided to rename it Marcus. Much better. 

Marcus was still asleep. Newt had created a new, rough draft of an habitat for it last night. Unsure yet as to the species of that particular bat, he had sort of put together a bit of everything. There was a rather large rock, with a flat surface upon which the bat was currently resting in its box. There was a tree, with skeletal branches the bat could use to hang upside down, and a tree cavity. It was night in the habitat, obviously. Newt had hooked the bat up with a tiny IV before going to sleep, to rehydrate him. Now was the time to slowly feed it again so he could regain some strength. He hoped that Marcus would cooperate, and instinctively start suckling once it smelled food. So far the bat was dead to the world. 

Newt placed his own box next to the bat’s, opened it, pulled on some sterile gloves, closed it, changed the setting on its lock and opened it again. Instead of a pile of gloves, there were now syringes and bottles in the box. He took a bottle out, repeated the process and this time faced a compartment with a couple recipients filled with what looked like a mixture of yogurt and mashed veggies. Newt had added drops of nourishing potion into the concoction. Marcus would definitely feel better after that. The wizard filled the bottle with the liquid mash, capped it, shook it and briefly warmed it between his hands. Then he leaned over the bat’s box, bringing the bib under its nose. The bat sniffed. 

“Yes, there you go,” Newt murmured. “Smells good, doesn’t it? I’m a great chef.” 

He took the bib to the bat’s mouth, and it latched on it immediately, suckling like its life depended on it. Newt smiled with satisfaction. It always made him happy when one his rescues started feeling better. The bat downed the bottle quickly, so quickly Newt had to sometimes take it away to slow him down. “You must have been starving,” he said softly. 

The bat’s eyes fluttered open. Even when the bottle was empty, it kept suckling. Newt took it away, and the bat gave a little squeak. Newt’s smile widened. He took off his glove, and started petting the bat with his finger. “Hello there.” The bat yawned. “Still sleepy, are we?” He put his finger under the bat’s chin, and Marcus started licking it. Newt chuckled. 

Then he let out a startled cry when the bat bit him. It was small and he withdrew immediately, so he barely felt it. Still, there were two, very tiny puncture marks on his skin. Newt scolded the animal, which was already nodding off again. He gave it a little tap on the nose as reprimand. 

He opened his small case to another compartment, disinfected the bite and put a band-aid on top of it. Then he looked at Marcus, sound asleep again. Was it his imagination, or did the little bastard look a bit smug? 

… Nah. It was a bat. It was probably just scared. Still, biting the hand that feeds you is rude. Good thing Newt was used to it, and had seen much worse behavior in the creatures he rescued. 

He took his case and kept on with his rounds. The other animals were getting impatient. 

\--------

“Marcus won’t keep the food down,” Newt said tiredly in lieu of a “good evening”. 

Queenie licked the wooden spoon she was using to prepare the sauce for dinner. There were having salmon and rice, and a homemade apple compote for dessert. It smelled, as usual, absolutely delicious. The table was already set. Newt leaned on the back of the chair opposite Queenie, watching her work. She cut a very nice figure. 

His eyes lingered on the curve of her back. 

“Newt."

“Sorry,” Newt said, embarrassed. He was only human. Anyone would find Queenie striking. Even when you lived with her and got used to it, it was hard to ignore her beauty. 

“Who’s Marcus?” She asked. 

“The bat.” 

Queenie had a clear laugh. “I thought it was named _Silver?”_

Newt huffed. “Tina decided on that. I never agreed.” 

“Right. What about him then? What’s got you so worried?” 

“As I said, he won’t keep the food down.” Truth be told, it was really bothering him. The bat didn’t look worse for wear, but it didn’t look any better than when it had first arrived, and that was almost two weeks ago. Newt worried his protégé was already lost. “I’ve tried everything, really. Even solid food, despite my better judgement, because he is way too thin to eat that right away. I gave him fruit compote, crushed insects -” 

“Ew.” 

“ - flowers, err, even tiny pieces of meat. He always eats whatever I give him, but he always throws it all up a couple hours later. He’s still paper thin, skin and bones, even if he’s rehydrated. I just can’t figure out what he likes.” It felt like failure. Newt was pissed. He always got attached to every animal he kept in his suitcase, and to let them die was… unacceptable. There had to be something the bat could keep down. But what? 

Queenie stirred the sauce, thinking. “Ain’t there a species of bats that feed on blood?” 

“There is,” Newt admitted. “But they’re natives to South America. And Marcus isn’t one, that much I can tell. Wrong size, wrong color, wrong everything.” 

“But you still don’t know what he is.” 

“No.” Newt had poured over some books and encyclopedias on bats, reading anything he could that would help solve the problem, but nothing worked. And Marcus didn’t look like any of the species that he read about. It was a waste of time. The bat was dying. 

“Well if Tina is right and he’s… a collector’s escapee or a magical zoo’s bat or … the result of a weird bat experiment? A familiar?” 

“Familiars are incorporeal,” Newt reminded her. "They're like spirits. And they're very rare."

“I’m just saying. You don’t know what he is, so you might as well try everything. If it doesn’t eat meat or fruits or insects, maybe it drinks blood.” 

“Only vampire bats have that very specific diet,” Newt said. “Only species in the world.” 

“Stop being so stubborn and just... “ Queenie shook her spoon at him. “Try. Also sit down. Dinner’s ready, Teenie should be home soon. Speaking of the devil!” 

Newt peered at the entrance. Tina indeed was standing there. She shook her umbrella free of rain. Her grey coat hung loosely on her body, and her hat was in a funny position. “You look like you’re freezing,” Newt said. He got up and helped relieve her of her handbag and umbrella. Tina shot him a grateful look as she took off her boots and slipped into her warm slippers. She hung her coat and hat on the coat hanger beside the door. Newt dried the umbrella with a wave of his wand, and put her handbag down on a little table opposite the coat hanger, where there also were the sisters’ keys, and a small plate of pocket money. 

“Please wash your hands before sitting at the table,” Queenie sing-songed. 

“You have mud on your shirt, Newt,” Tina remarked. Newt smiled sheepishly. They both sat down as the cooked salmon appeared on the table before them. Tina, who had let her hair grow longer, tied it up in a bun. It looked really good on her, Newt thought appreciatively. Queenie met his eyes and rose her eyebrows at him with a little smile. Newt cleared his throat. 

“Dinner!” He said. “Thank you, Queenie. How was work?” He asked, looking at Tina. 

“Fucking awful,” Tina replied as she helped herself to some rice. “Director Yena resigned.” 

“He did?” Queenie asked, surprised. “Isn’t he the second one in…” 

“In six months, yes,” Tina said with humor. “Sir Claes was the same. They jump at the opportunity to be the next Director of Magical Security, drown us in great speeches about how they’re the perfect person for the job but when it comes down to it they suddenly realize how heavy it is a burden to carry for one man’s shoulders.” She grew quiet. “They’re nothing like _him._ ” 

The atmosphere became heavier. All around the table knew who she was referring to.

Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security from 1923 to December 1926, date at which he became _Missing, presumed dead_. He was still missing, nearly a year later. There were no leads. Case unresolved, closed and put aside to deal with other major crisis. Tina felt like she was the only one who still cared. 

“That’s not true, Tina,” Queenie protested weakly, reading her. “I’m sure others must care just as much as you do.” 

Tina stabbed her fish with more force than necessary. “We gave up on him when he still needed our help. If he wasn’t dead when we found Grindelwald, he surely is now. Rotting away. He didn’t even get a proper funeral. Can you imagine how his family must _feel_ ? His parents? As long as he remains _missing_ , they can’t even find closure. There will always, always be that tiny sliver of hope that he might have survived and he might be coming back. I _hate_ this situation.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Queenie said softly. “I know.” 

“You really liked him, didn’t you?” Newt said. “I wish I could have met him. Not this pale, disgusting copy of him.” 

“Oh, he was terrible,” Tina replied. “Absolutely heartless. Ruthless. Fearless. But if you managed to go through that, to hold on, then you came to realize he wasn’t just a great man - he was a good one. He cared so much, about all of us. When Senior Auror Aïsha was badly injured in a fight, he became absolutely livid. That gang leader never stood a chance. He was terrifying, but he was beautiful,” she finished quietly. “I wish I could have told him how I felt.” 

“I’m sorry, Tina,” Newt said. 

Tina smiled. Her eyes were a bit wet. “Thank you. Tell me about the Niffler’s new litter?” 

Newt obliged. 

\-------

He did try the blood, in the end. Queenie’s advice was generally good, even if it bugged him to not have thought about it first. He went to the butcher’s shop down the road, told them his wife would be making black pudding, and bought a couple pints of fresh animal blood. Then he wandered in New York for a bit. Queenie had given him a few errands to do since he lived with them and was home most of the day, while they worked at MACUSA. He needed to pick up a dress at a tailor’s, buy some flour, butter, vegetables and milk, and he personally also needed to post a letter to Albus. He bought some tea at a sweet smelling shop, hoping that might finally convince the sisters that it was much better than that horrendous beverage they called coffee. Yuck. 

This took him all morning. He passed by Jacob’s Bakery on the way back, but it was closed on Mondays. Queenie hadn’t talked about him for a while. He wondered if she was still seeing him, or if things had changed. Tina, and him, certainly hadn’t approved of her desperate attempt to get him to remember her. It was hopeless, but young love was foolish. 

Newt hadn’t loved in a while. Honestly, he didn’t think he was made for it. 

He couldn’t complain about his current situation. He lived rent-free in New York, working on the second volume of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The first was unexpectedly successful, and his editor wanted more. Newt was more than willing to provide - sorting through all the creatures he had encountered and studied during his travels, and having to choose which ones would go into the first book had been a tedious hassle. He was happy that with a second volume, and perhaps a third - though he’d need to travel some more to fill it - he would get to talk about all of them. People needed to know. 

Why was he currently in New York? Well, he’d made friends there. He promised Tina he’d bring her a book in person, which he had done, and then he just… hadn’t left. All three of them had sort of settled into a routine, and it was quite comfortable. They balanced each other out nicely. 

So. He wasn’t complaining. He was quite happy, in fact. Beasts in his suitcase, money in his pockets, friends and admirers. What could possibly disrupt this situation? 

\-------

He thanked Queenie for the blood idea by buying her a huge bouquet of flowers. Queenie came home, found the surprise on the table alongside a little note, and went down to join him in his suitcase. Newt was tending to Marcus. The bat was taking little steps on the rock and squeaked while Newt encouraged him. He spread his wings and batted them. Queenie smiled at the adorable picture. The bat squeaked again and nibbled at Newt’s finger. 

“He looks better,” Queenie said, approaching. Indeed, Marcus had put some weight back on, and his fur was slowly growing back. 

“All thanks to you,” Newt said with a smile. “Do you want to touch him? He might bite.” 

“He won’t bite me,” Queenie said confidently. “I’m too pretty.” Newt laughed, delightfully surprised by her confidence. “Hello, little one. Marcus, Silver… Silvus? Marver?”

“You’ll confuse him.” 

“Oh no, I’m sure he’s very clever.” Queenie brought her hand closer. Her nails were painted pink. Marcus was still, looking at the approaching finger. He emitted a squeak, then bumped it with his head. Queenie’s smile could have lit up the whole world. She cooed at the bat and talked to it. Newt completely faded in the background. He didn’t mind. Marcus had grown on him, too. 

“Look at those tiny ears ! Ain’t you a beautiful creature? The most handsome !...” 

“Right,” Newt said, very amused. “I”ll just keep doing my rounds then, shall I?”

Queenie nodded vaguely. “... You’re adorable. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you…?” 

“A couple more weeks and we can release him, I think.” 

Queenie straightened up. “So soon?” 

“I don’t keep the animals I rescue. They’re free, and they’re not mine to take. I just help them along the way.” 

“You kept Niffler.” 

Newt winced. “She got attached.” 

“And Pickett with his tribe.” 

“He… got attached too.” 

“And the Nundu.” 

“Well that’s because if I release them they’re likely to die since people are dicks and also she’s had a baby -” 

“What about the selkie you keep at home?” 

Newt admitted defeat. His shoulders sagged. 

“We could keep Marcus. In fact I think we should. Please?” Queenie bit her lip, and looked at him with imploring eyes. 

“... God damn it, woman.” 

Queenie grinned. She kissed him on the cheek in passing on her way back upstairs. Newt shook his head and sighed, trying to get his thoughts together again. Marcus was watching him with his head tilted to the right, as if he was trying to analyze and understand human behavior. He squeaked, as if laughing. 

“Oh do shut up,” Newt said. “You’re all insufferable.” The bat squeaked again. “Yes, you’re stuck with me now. With us. Maybe. We’ll see how it goes - bats aren’t meant to live indoors, no matter how well replicated and wide the habitat... But Queenie would have my head if I let you go and you end up in such a state again. I do believe you stole her heart. You are rather special, aren’t you?” 

The bat gave a cry again and puffed out its chest. Newt snickered. 

“Yeah, yeah. Off with you.” 

\----

“...You are rather special, aren’t you?” 

_You have no fucking idea_ , Percival Graves thought, stuck in the body of a bat and emitting a cry of agreement. The man laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Off with you,” he said, and walked away. Percival squeaked again in protest. 

_Hold on, where does he think he’s going?_ _I haven’t been fed yet!_

He cried and batted his wings in distress until Newt turned around and came back. “What is it?” 

Percival waited for the familiar finger. Newt couldn't resist petting him at every turn. Once it was within biting range… he waited… waited… and CHOMP! 

“Ow! Bloody hell! You voracious animal!” 

Percival licked his fangs, satisfied. 

“I thought we’d gotten over this,” Newt said mournfully. He held his bloody finger in one hand. Marcus had bitten _hard_ , and he’d pierced the skin. “Do I not feed you enough?” 

Percival’s eyes flashed red. Newt blinked. “Fine. I suppose now that you’re healthier, you need a bit more. I’ll see what I can do.” 

_Thank you._ Percival happily shuffled back to his little bed. 

_Just they wait. Just they wait until he finally had enough strength to shift, and then…_

_Oh, they wouldn’t know what was coming for them._


	2. In Which Percival Graves Escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does vaguely remember being lesser. Being human. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had the reflexion earlier this day that, even though it's been four years since the first fantastic beasts and the hype has died down, writing and publishing fanfiction for the percival graves fandom is still -still!- one of the things that makes me the happiest in the world. i really love that character with all my heart. 
> 
> enjoy the chapter <3

To be honest, he hasn’t always been like this. 

He does vaguely remember being lesser. 

Being human. 

But every day the memories fade until they are out of his reach. It's like trying to come back to the surface, kicking and fighting desperately, despite already knowing that you’ve lost and you're drowning. 

Percival can’t remember the last time he didn’t feel this way. He’s not entirely sure his newly acquired vampic status is the sole cause of it, either. Even before his imprisonment, he had bad days where he felt like a fog clouded his mind, and every single task demanded and insane amount of energy. 

But, the point is - he is lucid about this whole vampire thing. He knows what he is. What he has become. 

And what he is is a rare genetic mutation, one that can appear when a wizard (or witch) is under great physical and mental duress. There are only a few cases in recorded history - most vampires are born, not made. It is a way for the body to preserve itself : it shuts down, and for all intents and purposes, you appear dead, cold, lifeless and pale as a corpse. 

But in that time of rest, your magic takes over. It is agitated, warped, alien, more like an invader than a part of you. The weakened body fights it confusedly, unable to recognize it as friend or foe - but it is helpless to prevent it from spreading. The disease starts attacking your cells, your blood, seeps into the marrow of your bones; and it changes you. You are not dead, but you are not alive either. Not really. You’re just surviving. You should have been dead; any human would have been. But wizards are stronger, and a very powerful wizard can fall victim to this fate. Living a half-life as a reanimated corpse is… 

Well, it's not exactly how Percival pictured his life would turn out in his later years. 

-

_ He woke up lying on the floor of his cell. The last thing he remembered was passing out; no doubt from the lack or food, or water, or the blood loss, or the cold, probably all of them at the same time. Grindelwald tended to forgot all about his existence, and here in Nurmengard, there were no guards to watch over him. There was only eerie silence.  _

_ Or there used to be. Percival lay very still. He could - he could hear the distant sounds of the forest. The cries of… birds?  _

_ “Oh,” he sighed weakly. It felt like breathing for the first time.  _

_ But how? He thought he was dead. No, he knew that he was dead, knew that this time God would grant him this small mercy. He had been sure when the world went dark that this was the end. There was only so much a man, even a wizard, could take.  _

_ He had lost count of how many days it had been since he received a visit. Or since he ate anything, even a dirty scrap of bread. Most of the time he lay prostrated in a corner of the room, hugging his knees up to his chest and rocking back and forth.  _

_ He remembered the sound of his own voice. At the beginning, he had made sense. He had screamed and raged, in American and in other languages he knew, including German - his captor's mother tongue. He flung himself at the heavy metal bars. He tried to break the iron chain strapped around his ankle that tied him to the wall. He had done all that until exhaustion took over, and then he did it again. And again. And again.  _

_ Time passed.  _

_ He pleaded. He begged. He crawled.  _

_ Time, time, time!  _

_ Time passed, an inexorable and deadly force.  _

_ He started muttering. Talking to no one in particular. He cried. He sang. He slept. He slept a lot. He waited.  _

_ (He hoped. He hoped, hoped, hoped. Surely this was just temporary. Surely he only had to hold on just a little while longer, and they would come save him. Surely…)  _

_ He started losing it when he understood that no one would ever come for him.  _

_ He screamed. He raged. He prayed. He fell.  _

_ He passed out.  _

_ He lost count of how many days it had been since he was given water. The bowl lay empty, upturned on the stone floor. In a moment of folly, Percival had licked it until his tongue was raw and bleeding, persuaded that he would catch a drop of water, hidden somewhere inside it. He remembered that thirst. He remembered being more and more weak, not even being able to lift one of his bloody fingers. He remembered, before that, tearing at his hair until it fell in clumps. He remembered vomiting nothing but bile, and being horrified at the sight of his own ankles. They looked like bare bones. Why was he still alive? How?! How was this a life?! He cursed his magic, convinced that a human would have been dead a long time ago, while this supernatural part of him forced him to go on until it, too, would have to surrender. He suffered.  _

_ He remembered trying to kill himself. Knocking his head against the walls repeatedly. Trying to strangle himself with his own chain. It never worked. Worse, whenever he woke up from that, he always felt slightly better than before, as though someone had come while he was unconscious and had healed his worst injuries.  _

_ Percival was going insane. At least he was aware of it.  _

_ Which was why he did not understand his situation now.  _

_ How was he alive? How was it possible for him to feel better than he had in days, weeks, months of this hell?  _

_ He was surprisingly clear-headed. He thought about standing up, and just knew he would be able to do it.  _

_ Uncertain that he wasn’t, in fact, dead, Percival sat up slowly. He felt… God, but he felt good? He was energized. His stomach had stopped burning and twisting itself inside out trying to feed on the ghost of Percival’s reserves. He wasn’t even hungry anymore.  _

_ … What the fuck was happening?  _

_ Well, whatever it was, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He stood up, just barely swaying on his feet. It had been a long time since he saw the world from this height. His chain clicked on the floor as he took a few stumbling steps. The cell was the same as it had always been: narrow, dark, cold as fuck and reeking of impending death. And various bodily fluids Percival prefered to not think about.  _

_ On the wall opposite the iron bars of his prison , there was a small rectangular window that allowed for a sliver of light to pass through. In the beginning, it was thanks to it that Percival kept track of the days. He lost count after three months or so, and started talking to the walls instead. He grimaces when he remembers.  _

_ He was, against all hope, alive. He felt better, for some reason (reasons which he would assess and observe later). He needed to escape this place - this might be his only chance. He had no doubts, felt absolutely certain that no one, not even Grindelwald anymore, would come for him. Staying here meant digging his own grave, welcoming death, and that was unacceptable. He still had some fight left in him. What were his options? The window? How would he ever fit through that narrow escape?  _

_ As though answering his question, an image passed through his mind - an animal. He saw a bat, then a snake; then… fog? He frowned in confusion. He looked at his ankle, and startled again… Was it his imagination, or where his toenails healed?  _

_ What the fuck was going on? Percival’s breathing quickened as he felt a strange kind of panic take over him. His hands… They were still terrifyingly thin, and his skin was just as pale as the moon. They were dirty, flaked with dried blood, but when Percival brought them closer to his face he saw that there were no more open wounds or broken nails. He remembered biting his skin raw, tearing out pieces of it maniacally, and… and his hand looked fine as if that had never happened. His nails…  _

_ His nails had grown to a scary length. They looked more like claws than perfectly normal, rounded human ones. Percival stared at them. He itched with the urge to cut them short. He'd always had perfectly manicured nails - these were an abomination. He touched his face, felt for his hair (long, awfully dirty and tangled), his brows, his eyes, his nose, his jaw (he had a beard now, a fact that made him shudder). He licked his lips, and felt something decidedly wrong. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and felt around. He closed his eyes.  _

_ “Fuuuuck,” he stated. He kept touching the two overgrown, pointy canines he could feel which were decidedly not there before. He’d always had perfect dentition too, thank you very much. Now he couldn’t quite close his mouth. “Well that’ss just great. That’ss just brilliant.”  _

_ Echoes of a lesson from Fourth Year Defense Against the Dark Arts class flashed through his mind. Vampires, and how rare they were. How the process of transformation basically involved the body of the wizard turning itself against them in a desperate attempt at survival. Well. It had fucking succeeded, hadn’t it? There he was. Still a prisoner, and a vampire on top of that. How fun.  _

_ Right. He needed to get out of here. He would deal with… all of this vampirey thing later.  _

_ A bat! He could turn into a bat! Or could he? It probably wasn’t any more difficult than the animagus transformation. Percival calmed down and focused, picturing the little animal in his mind. Its stupid fangs. Its wings. How the wind could possibly feel against them when he was outside --  _

_ He was flying.  _

_ The heavy chain that kept him prisoner fell down with a loud clang.  _

_ Percival screamed very loudly internally.  _

_ Externally, the black bat emitted a tiny squeak of surprise.  _

_ Oh, my God ! He really was a vampire. Fuck!  _

_ Percival flew around, and then hovered in the air as he looked at the very tiny window in front of him with determination. He flew straight through it, and into the open air.  _

_ Percival blinked at he batted his wings and looked back at the stone wall. He couldn't quite believe it had been that easy. Surely not. There was a catch.  _

_ From the outside, the Nurmengard castle looked like something straight out of a horrific fairy tale. He hurriedly flew away from it in fear. The castle was erected on an island, and it seemed to be the only habitation for miles, as far as the eye could see. It looked dark, forbidding, and entirely deserted. There were crows perched on top of one of the tower, making a chorus of noise.  _

_ Percival felt strange.  _

_ He had spent months, perhaps years locked inside these castle walls, with himself and his rampant insanity for sole company.  _

_ Now he was free. Had things really been that simple all along?  _

_ Was all his suffering necessary to get to where he was now?  _

_ He flew away pensively.  _

_ He... wasn’t quite sure what to do now. He should probably find shelter for the night, but he dreaded to think of what he might look like as a human. He would probably scare the hell out of anyone that crossed his path. It was no doubt safer to live as a bat for a little while, at least until he could regain some strength and find his bearings.  _

_ (If he was a vampire, he would have to feed on blood. Hell, he would probably attack the unfortunate first person he came across…and kill them.) _

_ Percival very, very carefully put that thought back where it came from and ignored it.  _

_ He wouldn’t kill.  _

_ Not if he could help it.  _


	3. In Which A Vampire Goes to New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d survived, yes, but at what price? At the cost of becoming the kind of monster he used to track down? A serial killer? How lovely. What a heartwarming thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks ill admit writing percival as a cute bat feels weird _sometimes_ and i can't wait until he turns back to his handsome, manly, vampiric self very soon eheheh
> 
> also timelines come together!!!

He was _hungry_ , god damn it all. 

He was also completely lost! The Austrian Alps landscape was admittedly very beautiful, with miles of mountain range and plains stretching as far as the eye could see. In any other circumstances, he would have loved to come here for a vacation : he couldn’t remember the last time he had had the pleasure of strolling in such gorgeous settings, allowing himself to forget about the worries of his position. His job was very stressful, very. He honestly couldn’t understand how Grindelwald had managed it, on top of his duties as Leader of the Bad Guys. Drugs, it had to be drugs. However else would he have so much energy to go about his day as Director of Magical Security and then come back to taunt and torture Percival after work? Or, well, to be fair, he used to do that at the very beginning. Then he just stopped. It wouldn’t be reaching too far to assume that Gellert Grindelwald was just… too exhausted to bother with his prisoner after a while, a sentiment Percival could understand. 

Hmm. 

He had never before been so flippant about his own suffering. His time spent in isolation must have really fried his brain. 

Anyway, he needed to do something. Flying around Austria as a bat was all well and good but Percival was very weak _._ The surge of adrenaline from before was gone, and starvation had returned with a vengeance. He was so fucking miserable. Did no one live here?! At this point he would have given anything to sink his teeth in some random hikers or in a shepherd watching over his flock. These vast areas of lush grass were some prime feeding spots for cattle and sheep. Why was there no one to be seen?! 

Fuck, he also really needed to get back to New York... He didn’t want to think about it, but now that he was free, it was his duty to regain the city as soon as possible in order to make a dramatic entrance at MACUSA and reveal Grindelwald’s superchery. Hopefully then things would get back in order; the criminal would be arrested and locked away for good, and Percival could go back to his life. That is… if he didn’t succumb first to the bloodlust and rage simmering inside him, and ripped Grindelwald apart the second he laid eyes on him. His control was already hanging on a very tenuous thread. He didn’t fancy being the first person who would meet him now. 

New York, New York… How to get to New York? He was on the other side of the Atlantic ocean! Could he fly as a bat to the West coast of France, and from there, take a boat to reach New York? The thought of even trying to undertake such a journey sickened him. There had to be another solution, one that wouldn’t demand such efforts - after all, he was a vampire now. The laws governing the world of humans didn’t apply to him anymore, and neither did their limitations. 

Could he apparate to New York? Such a feat, even for a powerful wizard, would be considered impossible. The distance was far too great, and magic had its limits. But, Percival thought, he could maybe try to do it step-by-step? After all, he was well traveled, and he knew Europe. He could try to apparate first to Zurich, then maybe Lyon, then go to Brittany, and from there attempt the daunting task of apparating all the way to New York. An ambitious journey to be sure, but one that made more sense than flying straight to New York. Or, well, actually - he supposed he could literally fly to New York. As a bat. 

He was, however, afraid of the damage he could cause on the way. 

Travelling meant meeting humans… and Percival was a vampire now. As long as he did not have a more profound understanding of what exactly that new status _meant_ , he had to tread very carefully - to protect others, and to protect himself. He did not want to leave a trail of bodies in his wake, from Austria to France (even though he started salivating at the thought, which was mildly concerning.) What other options did he have? 

He supposed he could always try to kill himself - starve to death or whatever - but weirdly enough… he didn’t want to do that. He’d survived the impossible. Surely there was a reason. He supposed he could always try to apparate to New York directly and do the impossible - again? And if it didn’t work, then he would undertake that journey, and try to steer clear of any traces of human civilization if he could. That sounded like a good plan. 

Percival flew down to a naked tree branch and perched himself on it.

Alright - time to focus. 

He briefly considered turning back into a man, but… as things were, he didn’t think that a human form would do him a service. So Percival thought of New York. He closed his eyes, resisted the urge to doze off, and pictured Main Street. Main Street was always very animated, bustling with busy people who hurried from one point to the other. _A train whistled loudly above his head, a car honked, a mother scolded her crying child_. _There were the families, the businessmen, the street vendors, a preacher no one paid attention to, a poor boy standing in the middle of the pavement distributing leaflets, a couple homeless people, and a musician singing and strumming his guitar._

There was the Woolworth Building : Percival pictured the towering workplace, with tinted windows stretching high up to the sky. He remembered looking at it. It was a Tuesday morning like any others. He stood there waiting to cross the street, his long coat billowing behind him. It was windy. He had a cigarette in his mouth, and his blue silk scarf loopped around his neck. The cars stopped; people started to move forward and he followed. A No-Maj woman looked up and met his eyes in passing. Young, blond, pretty. Percival nodded at her with a smile, and she blushed and looked down. 

He entered the building through the swinging door and took off his coat, then tucked it under one arm. He passed his hand through his slicked back hair briefly, making sure not a strand was out of place. All kinds of people greeted him as he made his way to the elevator to get to his office : first the doorkeepers, of course, then the security guards and, as he went up the massive staircase, the secretaries, elves, a few aurors, a couple of passing visitors who stared at him and murmured excitedly, etc. It was seven am. There was a lot of work to do. 

He idly wondered what surprises this day would have in store for him, and vowed to accept them - as they were - no matter what. Thinking like this helped him remain calm despite all the unforeseen events that could happen when one held a position as important as his - and interacted with so many different, unpredictable people in a day. So many variables. 

But so far, really, the biggest _surprise_ _of the day_ he had ever received was being attacked by Grindelwald in his own home, after work, and then waking up in a fucking freezing cell. God really had a shit sense of humor. Oh, there he went _blaspheming_ now. That was bad. His mother would have his head if she knew. 

Fuck, his parents... Percival felt his heart plummet. His father was dead, had been for a few years, and his mother… she probably thought him dead too. The news had probably killed her. And if it hadn’t, he wasn’t sure that revealing himself to have survived as a vampire was merciful. It was probably best if she kept thinking he was dead. But this was so unfair. What a shit situation. Out of all the unfair things that had happened to him in his life, this was really the icing on the cake. Percival was angry. 

So angry he didn’t realize right away that he was no longer facing an enchanting green scenery, but an ugly grey building facade. 

A chorus of aggressive noise suddenly assaulted his poor sensitive ears : cars humming, and people talking, barks of laughter, screaming, and music, a dog howling, and… He squinted his eyes in pain as his headache bloomed and worsened, becoming all encompassing. He had to leave - needed to find shelter - _now._ He longed for darkness and quiet. He unfolded his wings and flitted about completely blindly, all his sharp senses attacked by the lively chaos of New York city. 

(Later, later he would realize how incredible and miraculous it was to have been able to apparate so far, but for now all he wanted was to get away from all this.) 

He was panicking, had no idea where he was even going. He couldn’t recognize anything. Nothing seemed familiar. Percival exhaustedly kept flying, to god knows where, as his body started shutting down. His vision darkened. He was going to pass out, he knew that. He never saw the window pane coming. There was a loud THONK, shock, pain, and then complete darkness. 

\-----

A delicious scent wafted over to his nose. Percival sniffed with interest, slowly waking up. Something bumped against his mouth. 

“Yes, there you go.” The voice was soft, soothing, and distinctly masculine. Percival wondered where he was. He vaguely remembered flying through New York - where had he landed? Who was this? 

“Smells good, doesn’t it?" The stranger said. "I’m a great chef.” 

Percival blindly latched onto the human’s food offering. He suckled on the tiny bottle the man was feeding him with. Had he been himself a man at this moment, his face would have been burning with shame at his embarrassing predicament, but for the moment Percival tried to focus only on ensuring his survival. Regaining his dignity would come later. He barely tasted the food, so hungry as he was to keep it all down. It was the first thing over than _bread_ or _gruel_ he’d had in months, and it was heavenly. He ate until his belly was full, and then kept suckling because he did not feel sated, which was very frustrating. 

“You must have been starving,” the man commented. Percival, feeling a bit cheered up now, slowly opened his eyes, squinting at this new environment. He was so curious as to where he’d ended up. 

First things first, he was _clearly_ still a bat - because in his memory, his fellow humans did not look like giants nor did they tower over him like this redheaded guy did. His savior (?) took the bottle away, and Percival squeaked in surprise. The human smiled. He took off the white gloves he was wearing, then cautiously drew his hand closer to Percival, which was kind of terrifying and just plain weird. It looked like the open hand was going to crush him. Percival resisted the urge to fly away or to fight. He had to play nice until he knew more about the situation... “Hello, there.” The man started petting the bat’s head with a finger. Percival had no idea how to react to that - no idea at all. He remained frozen, trying not to lean into the touch as the redhead scratched him behind his tiny ears. It felt _good,_ damn it. Percival yawned despite himself. “Still sleepy, are we?” He put his finger under Percival’s chin. Percival’s nostrils flared - all of a sudden he could hear the man’s heartbeat and see the tiny veins in his finger. _Blood blood blood._ He licked the man’s finger, and heard a chuckle. 

Acting purely on instinct, Percival bit him. The man startled and withdrew his finger immediately. _Oops,_ Percival thought. He licked his chops, but there was no blood to be found - he hadn’t bitten deep enough. _Oh, well. See you next time, Redhead._ He yawned again, tuning out the man’s scolding. He received a tap on the nose for his trouble, something which made his eyes water. 

It was, all again, very unfair - to be treated like this… He had his pride, damn it, and felt completely robbed of it. He was suddenly very tired. Percival settled in the tiny bed (was that a _shoebox?_ Hadn't he been humiliated enough?) and drifted off to sleep. He didn’t hear the human leave. 

-

And so the days went by. 

Percival learned that the man’s name was Newt, and that _Newt_ was obviously a wizard. He learned that Newt lived here, in New York, with two women : Tina and Queenie (his ears pricked up at the mention of Tina. Could it be his Tina? His trusted Auror? Unfortunately, he could never confirm that theory, because she never visited Newt’s case.) 

Not only was Newt a wizard, he was also a magizoologist, and a damn good one at that. Under his care, Percival had regained a bit of strength and, in the long hours of the night when he was alone, he had had the time to observe his magical surroundings from his perch. 

Newt had gone to great lengths to create a habitat for him - one which he would have no doubt fully appreciated if he was an actual bat and not, you know, a wizard himself. From there, Percival could see another tree, another habitat : this one was bathed in sunlight, and had for hosts a colony of busy, twig-like creatures. Botrucs. Percival knew it was illegal to own one of these animals - they were famous for picking locks - much less a colony of them. He was impressed by Newt's nerve ; but then, that was the man's job (he no doubt had permits for all the animals populating his case), and he didn't seem interested in the illegal trade of magical creatures. Newt only seemed to want to study them and help them. He was an odd one. 

Above Percival's head drifted transparent bubbles. There were big sized insects trapped inside them. Sometimes a colorful bird he didn't know the name of would fly over, pierce one of them with its beak and feed on its occupant. To Percival’s left, further away, was a Mooncalf enclosure. He’d stared in awe as Newt fed them; he had never before seen one alive. They were very lovable creatures. 

One day, Newt came to feed him wearing an Occamy wrapped around his neck like a scarf. The Occamy had slithered down Newt’s arm to get closer to Percival, intrigued by this new creature his 'mommy' had brought back. Percival had been very out of his element. The Occamy had hissed at him, probably sensing he wasn't really an animal, and he’d tried to fly away, only to take a tumble and fall into a miserable heap because he wasn’t well enough. Newt never visited him with another creature in tow after that. 

-

His caretaker was increasingly worried, Percival could tell. 

And he couldn’t blame Newt. He felt increasingly weakened too; he just couldn’t manage to keep down anything Newt gave him, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Percival knew deep down that he needed blood - large amounts of it - but Newt hadn’t figured that out yet, and he had no way of communicating his needs. As a result, despite being warm, cared for, and well rested, Percival felt what little strength he had left deplete a bit more every day. The future was bleak. He spent most of his days sleeping, waking up only when Newt came to see him, and then slept some more. The poor magizoologist was frustrated with him. He’d tried feeding the bat everything under the sun: meat, flowers, insects, vegetables and fruits, _everything,_ but it all tasted like ash in his mouth. His new organism rejected all of it completely. 

Percival didn’t know what to do either. He’d tried to turn back into a human, but while the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak. He just couldn’t make it. He wasn't strong enough. It was impossible. He devoted a few moments each day to trying to shift, again and again, but it never worked. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he still kept trying anyway. He had to. This… period of uncertainty had lasted long enough. Something needed to happen, or he would just die here of starvation, which, after all he'd been through, was pitiful. 

-

Fortunately, blessedly, a couple days later Newt had a surprise for him! 

The man opened his magical medical toolbox _thing,_ and took out a couple pints of blood. Percival saw it and immediately felt much more awake - he perked up in his bed, and crawled out of it hurriedly to reach Newt. “You can thank Queenie,” Newt told him idly as he once again prepared a little bottle to feed him with, this time filling it with the red, thick liquid. Percival was nearly bouncing in place - he couldn’t wait to drink that, he was positively salivating. “She was the one to point out I hadn’t tried everything with you. Here’s hoping you keep this down, eh?" He made a face. "Because if you don’t, I’ll really be out of my depth here. Come on, Marcus - open.” 

Percival rolled his eyes at the name Newt had given him - _Marcus, ugh -_ but obeyed. 

And good god… Oh, _ooh_ , but it was heavenly... He could almost hear the choir of angels descending from the sky as he fed. This… This felt better than one or ten orgasms! It warmed him from the inside out ; it was like he was finally allowed to breathe again. All the little aches he had accumulated went away, just like that. 

The blood was clearly of animal origin, pig or chicken or something else - but Newt had gone through the trouble of warming it slightly for Percival, and his entire being reveled in it. There wasn't the thrill of the hunt, but there was the reward. He understood now what vampires truly suffered from. Once you have a taste of heaven, it is hard to renounce it. They were addicts. Oh, he couldn't imagine what human blood tasted like… it was probably even better than this in every way, and wasn't that a thought… 

He swallowed the blood down greedily, feeling every cell in his body coming back to life. When he was done, he squeaked and cried until he was given a second bottle, dignity be damned - he’d waited such a long time for this. _Such a long time._ If Newt was surprised by his sudden energy and appetite, he didn’t say anything - merely smiled and fed him until Percival couldn’t swallow anything more, then crawled back to his little bed, belly finally full and sated. 

He slept like a baby. 

\---

It was all uphill after that: Newt, having finally understood that this was what he needed - what he craved - started feeding him blood. And as a result… Percival was getting better _._ He was healing, for real this time. But it was more than that : with every day that passed, he sensed that he was becoming more powerful. The physical changes quickly became noticeable : his body healed, his fur grew back and became luscious and soft. The more blood he consumed, the stronger he was. He still couldn’t shift back to a human, not yet, but now he knew it was only a matter of time. 

At least he wasn’t confined to his bed anymore. He could move around freely, even fly for short periods of time to burn off the excess of energy he had. Newt, seeing his growing restlessness, had given him a tour of his case. Percival was perched on one of his shoulder, and listened with rapt attention as Newt described the different habitats and introduced all the creatures to him. He was, once again, struck by Newt’s sheer nerve - the man kept a _Nundu_ here, as if it was a domestic cat and not a venomous, ferocious creature with quite the temper. Percival focused with all his might on Newt’s words, to try to resist the growing temptation of just sinking his teeth in the soft flesh of Newt’s neck... It was very difficult. Newt was just there, just - begging to be bitten. Percival’s ears were attuned to the soft, regular thumping of his heart inside his breast. He could see the veins, _see_ them here, right here, pulsing inside Newt’s neck, connecting the man’s heart to his brain - keeping him alive _._ If Percival were being honest with himself, he would say that he longed to kill him. He longed to take that life for himself, greedily, selfishly. 

But two things stopped him : one, Newt had just fed him, so he wasn’t really _that_ hungry. And two… Percival was biding his time. He figured he would no doubt feed on Newt, eventually, possibly - Newt or someone else, but Newt was the closest prey. But he wanted to wait first. He wanted to keep up this ‘poor, small, wounded bat’ act as long as possible, so as not to arouse suspicions. As far as covers went, it was a good one. He could think of a few reasons why keeping his true identity hidden for now was primordial. Firstly, he didn’t know what had happened to Grindelwald. The man may very well still be masquerading as him within MACUSA - a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Graves didn’t know yet what he planned to do about that situation. He was waiting until he was even stronger, and until he had more information. 

Only then would he deal with Grindelwald in his own time, _on his own terms_ , and see if he wanted to reveal to the world the reason behind his unlikely survival. 

Namely, vampirism. As far as Percival knew, vampires, when they were allowed to exist, were bound to another wizard. They were little more than servants, their status equal to that of an house elf or worse. The wizarding world discriminated against any and all humanoid magical creatures. Vampires like Percival were rare, and nobody knew what they were capable of. And what people didn’t know they feared, and they tried to control. Percival had no desire to fall so low. Managing to escape his prison only to make the mistake of finding himself in a gilded cage wasn’t what he desired. 

Additionally, well… More selfishly, _if_ he did end up killing people... No one would ever suspect the tiny bat rescue Newt had taken in nearly a month ago. The point was : Percival had to tread very, very carefully. And resist the urge to maim or murder Newt, or Tina, or Queenie (or _anyone_ ) when they had so kindly rescued him. 

Whoopee whoopee. 

He’d survived, yes, but at what price? At the cost of becoming the kind of monster he used to track down? A serial killer? 

How quaint, how lovely, how wonderful. He couldn’t wait to see how things would turn out.


	4. In Which There Is a Vampire In Newt's Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t until late February that Percival turned back into a human. 
> 
> Or, well - a human-shaped _being_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> percival : why are we here. just to suffer.

It wasn’t until late February that Percival turned back into a human. 

Or, well - he was a human-shaped _being_ , definitely. 

The metamorphosis was much more painful than he remembered shifting into a bat had been like -- perhaps because he actually felt better, and thus was more aware of his own body, he mused deliriously. Bones snapped, cracked, popped as they shrunk, grew back, rearranged and realigned themselves while Percival swore like a sailor. He truly hoped this process would be smoother in the future once he had gotten used to it. 

Beneath the fake full moon that shone high in the sky of Percival’s habitat, there now knelt a naked, shivering, and deathly pale man. Percival breathed deeply to try to settle his mind. 

So… That had worked. He really was a vampire - he didn't tire of repeating that fact to himself as it still surprised him. Trust him to be the only wizard in decades to actually achieve this remarkable feat. It was good to no longer be stuck as a bat in a body that had felt too tight for him, like an ill-fitting suit. He truly hadn't had any expectations when trying for the _millionth_ time to shift, more out of habit than anything (it had become a daily exercise at this point) but… But this time, much to his shock it had worked. It seemed the blood-based diet Newt had him on had done wonders. 

Percival tried to stand, only to trip over his own feet like a newborn foal and faceplanting into the dirt. “Right,” he said flatly against the grass. His voice was rough from disuse, and sounded odd even to his own ears. His throat was very dry. He’d need to find something to drink soon, once he made himself a bit more… presentable. Presently, he was stark naked and no doubt looked dreadful. The blood may have made him healthy again, but it did nothing for him in terms of _hygiene_ , and neither did Newt - save for cleaning him that one time with flannel dipped in lukewarm water. Bats were supposed to lick themselves clean, after all, but Percival wouldn’t do that even under threat of _death._ So he stunk. 

After a third try, he finally managed to stand up on his own two legs. Okay, so that was step one. Step two was trying to assess the damage - namely, trying to see what the fuck he looked like now... He hoped he was the kind of vampires that could still see themselves in mirrors. He wouldn’t bear not being able to look at his reflection for all eternity. He wasn't vain, but his parents had drilled into his head that his outward appearance mattered very much in how people perceived him and he'd taken it to heart. 

Without a reflection he’d start to wonder if he even existed - which, he supposed, was one of the basic elements behind the vampire curse. It wasn’t called a curse because it was _pleasant._

Immortality, bloodthirst, feral mind taking over, scary appearance. Nothing but a walk in the park, hmm? What was done was done. All Percival could do now was try to accept his own condition, try to stay alive, and try to adapt the best he could to this new life. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad? Perhaps he wouldn’t turn into a mindless serial killer intent on draining every drop of blood from his victims’ bodies… His eyes glazed over and drool filled his mouth. 

He shook his head - focus, Percival, _focus_. 

Perhaps he’d make friends with some fellow vampires and they’d all live in a castle somewhere as a tight, family-like community? Perhaps the love of his life actually was a vampire, and Percival just hadn’t met them yet

Who knew? His mother used to say everything happened for a reason. Anyway. He needed to find some clothes. 

Percival looked down to study his new body, which looked so familiar and yet so alien. He lifted one leg up, then the other. They were nicely shaped and covered in dark hair, but - oh lord - something really needed to be done about his _toenails_. His eyes widened in horror. What the fuck were _those?!_ Why - why would he even need claws on his feet?! _Who_ was behind that whole vampire design? Percival bent over to touch the sharp, long nails and prob at them. They were as hard as steel, and wasn't even sure he would be able to cut them without a saw. He needed to talk to the manager of Vampire Design & Co, now. He had _complaints_! The scarily long nails on his hands he could understand (all the better to grab his victims and make sure they didn’t move, or something along those lines) but the feet? That was just impractical! How was he supposed to wear shoes? Would he even be able to walk two steps without falling? 

Percival sighed, and examined his torso next. Hmm. While he was no longer just skin and bones thanks to Newt’s care, his ribs still showed, and he'd lost almost all his muscle mass. Which was disappointing, he'd worked hard to keep himself in shape, but there wasn’t much he could do about this at that point. He could try working out again in the distant future, but he wasn’t sure it’d be very efficient… Vampire biology had to work differently than humans’. He may never be able to get back what he’d lost. The animal blood pumping through his veins currently was just enough to keep him upright and alive. He placed his hand over his heart and waited. It did beat, but much more slowly than before, lazily sending blood throughout his body. Percival frowned, the corners of his lips pulled down in a displeased expression. 

He knew he needed more blood, quickly. Preferably human. Surely that would be able to help his body build up fat reserves and proteins again... He really had no idea if he even needed those to function anymore, but right now he was really feeling the urge to drink large quantities of human blood, so he assumed there was a good reason. He wouldn't question his instincts when he was still so weak. 

And there he went feeling murderous again. This was really going to become a problem. Did he necessarily need to kill in order to feed? No! But he sure as hell wanted to! 

Could someone help him learn control until he felt it was safe to go out into the world again? Possibly, but he intended to keep a low profile in order to live, so there went that plan for now. He supposed, a bit further down the line, that he could ask Newt for help… The man was used to dealing with dangerous creatures. Hell, perhaps he'd even met vampires during his travels and knew what to expect. Perhaps he would be able to handle Percival when he'd feel more feral than human. Perhaps. 

Something tickled his shoulder. Percival shivered, seized it, and realized it was just his overgrown hair. It reached past his shoulders. He still had a beard too, which was horrible. He needed to shave : it would help him feel a bit more like his former self, even if it was just an illusion of normality. 

The pointed, razor-sharp canines were back too. They were really quite lengthy. He’d always heard that vampires could retract their fangs like snakes, but that didn’t seem to be working for him. Perhaps he could try to file them down, if it wasn’t too painful? There was one other thing that was completely new and which he had not yet taken notice of before: both his ears were pointy, shaped like a… well, like a bat’s. If Percival could, he would have blushed with embarrassment - this was ridiculous. His whole appearance was ridiculous. The ears sort of made more sense than the toenails - his hearing was more acute, more sensitive - but they would be very difficult to hide if he wanted to live with humans again. He’d just look like an overgrown goblin. Perhaps it would be best to keep his hair long. The beard had to go though; he would do a piss poor job of shaving if he had no reflection, but he couldn’t bear the weight of it a second longer. 

Find some clothes, clean himself (a bath or a shower or even just a random basin filled with cold water, he wasn’t picky at this point) and shave. 

And then find something to nibble on. Percival was hungry. He licked his lips - he could hear heartbeats all around him, all the creatures in the case. Some of them were eyeing him, trying to determine what manner of creature he was. Friend… or foe? Percival took a step forward, and both the Bowtruckles in the habitat to his right and the Mooncalves on the one to his left scattered and went into hiding. 

They recognized him as predator, then. Wise. 

Percival grinned and stretched, holding his arms up above his head. Fuck, that felt good. Now he needed to find the shed Newt had talked about a few times. The man probably kept some clothes in there, right? If not, then he’d just… unlock the case from the inside and… go out. 

He looked up, eyes narrowed, his hearing zeroing in on… two? Three, it was _three,_ three faint heartbeats whose sound originated above his head. Three human heartbeats. 

Queenie, Tina and Newt. _Prey,_ his brain supplied helpfully, hungrily, giddily _._

This new life was going to be hard, Percival thought desperately. How was he meant to constantly suppress new instincts that screamed literal bloody murder at him _all the time?_ How was he supposed to keep up a normal conversation with people again when he'd constantly be wanting to do very, _very bad_ things to them? 

Percival had always been someone who prided himself on his self control. Control over his body, his mind, his heart and his soul, but it was all slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. Did any of that really matter anymore? His _control_ hadn’t mattered one wit when Grindelwald overpowered him. It hadn't mattered either when his magic decided to attack him and turn him into a bloodthirsty _vampire_. Hell, he would even argue than if he’d been a bit less of a sucker for _control_ and _rules_ \-- if he'd allowed himself to be a bit more _unhinged_ \-- then Grindelwald would never have gained the upper hand in their battle. 

Because Percival had been so focused on not blowing up his apartment to pieces in order not to reveal the existence of magic and wizards to the no-majes passing by in the streets of New York right below his window that he hadn’t given Grindelwald his whole attention -- when they were in fact of equal power! This whole situation should never have happened. He shouldn't have been defeated. He had been weak. He wouldn't be weak anymore. 

He was deeply mad at himself, and those emotions mixed well with his new vampire instincts. He growled, his eyes flashing red. He wanted revenge. He wanted to rip Grindelwald apart then bathe in his blood. _Breathe, Percival, breathe._ He could hear three heartbeats upstairs. _Fuuuck, breathe._

Grindelwald would be seen to later. He wanted the man to suffer as much as he had. _Breathe._

_That fucker probably thinks I’m dead. The fool, the absolute madman. Well, surprise, asshole! I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 im just chillin and vibing with this story honestly. leave a kudos if you like it! i'm experimenting with posting shorter chapters more _often._ once finals are over i'll have more time to write. cheers <3

**Author's Note:**

> wrong fandom, but toss a comment to your writer, o' valley of fanfic, etc etc. i love being validated. thank you for reading :) <3


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